Missing Link
by RikkiChadwick2011
Summary: Abbey Dawson wants to learn more about her father, but her mother won't tell her anything. Abbey comes across a man and he decides to help her find her father. Abbey is yet to realize the answer is sitting in front of her! COMPLETE! Rated T!
1. Prologue

**A/N: Here's my new story! Let me know if I should continue this! :D Negative and Positive comments are welcomed! Please **_do not_ **hesitate to speak your mind! I'm keeping an open mind and I know there are a lot of stories like these!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic**

Prologue- 14 Years Earlier (Rose's POV)

She was crying. This was nothing new. She always cried at this time in the morning. I picked up baby Abbey and began lightly bouncing her in my arms, cooing quietly. She was gorgeous, and I wished Jack could see her. She was so tiny, and I was so scared. Is this how my mother felt when _I_ was born? Is this how every mother felt? The little bundle of joy in my arms squirmed a lot currently. I was so scared of _everything_.

Abbey was beginning to get sleep. I could tell by the way her eyes grew heavy. Before long, she was asleep again, and I carefully placed her back in her crib.

I looked at her a few moments. Red hair like me and dark blue eyes like Jack. She had Jack's nose, but my cheekbones. Her breathing was no more than a whisper. She looked so peaceful. "I promise you I'll keep you safe and happy," I whispered, brushing the tip of my index finger on her soft cheek. She squirmed, but didn't open her eyes.

I left the room, quietly closing the door halfway. _I wish you were here to see her, Jack_.

**A/N: Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 1

**Don't own Titanic…**

(14 Years Later—Abbey's POV)

"What you got there, Dawson?" sneered a voice. I didn't look up. I knew _she_ would be standing there. "What are you? Scare, Dawson?" she teased. "What do you want, Victoria?" I snapped. We used to be friends… Until her father found out my last name was Dawson. Victoria Hockley. He father refused her pleads to see me, and she was forced to hate me. I didn't see what was so _bad_ about my last name. Dawson? It didn't sound conniving… Not like "Hockley" anyway. My mother had agreed it was best I not hang around with Victoria.

My birthday was only a few days away. December 14th. Yippee. Mom kept asking me what I wanted, but she knew I only wanted pastels or an art kit, and a new sketch pad. That was all I needed.

I was engrossed in my artwork, that I didn't notice Victoria was still there until she stole my sketch pad. "Hey! Give it back!" I yelled, jumping up to reach for it. She was slightly taller than I was, so I couldn't easily grab the sketch pad. "Come on, Dawson! Jump for it! That's a good _dog_!" Victoria sneered, holding the sketch pad up higher. I resisted the urge to elbow her in the gut. That was my problem. I had a high temper at times. My mother didn't, ever, get that way. Maybe my father did? I wish I knew about him. Mom wouldn't tell me _anything_ about the topic.

Whenever April 15th came around, Mom would cry herself to sleep. I was quite thankful she didn't cry all day. Did it have to do with my father—whom I _still_ knew _nothing_ about?

Victoria still wouldn't give back the sketch pad, and there was one of the teachers coming by. I wanted so badly to slap her, but I wouldn't. Not just because there was a teacher. "Did your daddy buy you this for a dollar? It's cheap. Oh wait! You don't have a dad do you?" Victoria teased, tossing the book back at me. That was it. I charged at her, and pushed her down. I was angry now, and I could see she was shocked, and somewhat scared.

"_NO_ one talks about my father!" I yelled. She nodded quickly. Her pupils were dilated in fear. "Miss Dawson! Come with me!" yelled a teacher from behind me. She grabbed my arm and hauled me off. I used all my strength to not flip her off as she laughed at me. I was hanging onto that little thread with all my strength and it hurt worse than Girl cramps.

"This is the second fight this week!" my mother said. We lived close to the High School, so we always walked to and from. "She deserved it this time!" I argued. "Well, stealing your sketch pad wasn't a good reason," my mother said. "I only told them that. She took my sketch pad, but she also… Insulted dad," I mumbled. "What did you say?" My mother asked, cocking her head slightly. "I said she insulted dad," I said. I saw my mother stiffen. Here comes the water works. "O-oh," my mother said.

"Mom… please don't cry," I begged. "I'm not," she said turning her head away slightly. I could hear it in her voice. "This is why I didn't say it in front of the principal," I sighed heavily. "Mom, come on, relax," I said. We had reached the house, and my mom was sobbing visibly now.

She sat down on the couch, still crying, but silently into a pillow. I sighed, flopping down in the arm rest next to her. I knew I should've kept my mouth shut. But I was curious at this point. _What happened to dad—or mom—that caused this reaction whenever someone said the "D" word?_ I plucked up the courage to ask. I was stubborn, and I could pry for hours as guilty as I was feeling now. I hadn't even asked her yet and I felt bad. "Mom? What happened?" I asked.

I knew she was going to deny the question and stall. "W—," "You know what I mean," I said stubbornly. She sighed, holding back another sob. "I knew you'd start asking sometime," she laughed quietly. "What was his name? You never told me—_ever_," I said. She looked as though she were fighting more tears—she probably was—and said, "Jack. His name was Jack." And left it at that. She got up and began leaving the room. _No! That was all I was getting? No!_ I jumped up quickly. "Mom! That's it? Come on! These questions are only going to get more frequent!" I argued. "No, they aren't, Abbey. Now go set the table for dinner," she said. As she began to shut the door, I stopped it with my foot. "Mom… It's three o' clock," I said nonchalantly.

"Early dinner," she said shortly and proceeded to shut the door. I sighed heavily and left the argument alone. It wasn't over though. Oh, no. I was definitely not leaving it alone. She couldn't avoid me forever.

Dinner was silent that night. She only nodded or shook her head, my mother, when asked a question and whatnot. I didn't ambush her with questions. She sported red, puffy eyes currently. I knew she had spent all evening crying while I prepared the lasagna. I felt bad, but I shoved it away. I wanted answers.

The next day at school, Victoria left me alone—and so did everyone else. I didn't have any friends anymore… they all crossed over to Victoria's side. I didn't care though. I had my sketchpad and some pieces of pastel to hold me over.

After school was all I thought about. I just wanted to go to the pier and paint portraits. I could make a few bucks probably. I did normally. I would just tell my mom to go back home, so that she didn't have to come with me—unless she wanted to. She usually didn't. She got emotional when I talked about having fun at the pier.

Victoria, of course, harassed me that day once again. I tried to hold back my anger. I did successfully, but she got me into more trouble. She pretended to fall over, just as a teacher came out onto the school yard to tell all the kids to go home. She started screaming. I groaned, knowing the teacher was yelling at me and not Victoria.

I wasn't sent to the principal's office this time. But I did receive punishment: Stay after the whole week cleaning every chalkboard in the school. Why was God out to get me?

When I had finished washing every chalkboard in existence in this school, I picked up my bag, without letting the teacher know I was going, and headed off to the pier. My mother was waiting in the courtyard with the teacher who had yelled at me. _Shit!_ Now I was never going to hear the end of it. "Mom, I'm going to the pier!" I called taking off at a sprint. I wasn't going to deal with this right now. The sky was a light pink with orange clouds and until it was dark—I _wasn't _going home yet.

Once at the pier, I found a nice placed by the water to sketch. There was a little girl sitting on her father's lap. It made me somewhat sad, but I began sketching them anyway. I bet Dad gave me this talent… I wish I knew him.

**A/N: Okay! What'd ya think? :)**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: As promised my children! Lol :D But seriously:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic**

I put my sketchpad in front of my mother. She didn't see what I did. A _father_. "I want to find out more about Dad. On my own," I said. I was silently praying for a good outcome. "No," my mother said. There went my hope. Right out the freaking window! "What?" I protested. "No. I said 'No', Abbey," my mother scolded. "Why are you so against me doing this?" I asked sternly. I didn't yell, but I could feel my temper begin to rise. "Why are so _set_ on doing this?" My mother asked, not looking at me.

I took a deep breath calming myself but snapped, "Because you don't tell me _anything_ about Dad!" "And I have a good reason for it!" my mother argued. I sighed a bit too dramatically. I was near desperate by this point. I could tell by the unusual urge to stomp my foot and scream in frustration.

_Only in the movies, Abbey, _I thought. I took another deep breath because if I didn't something was going through a wall. I clenched my jaw tightly and my mother could see the frustration bubbling. I silently counted to 20 while holding my breath.

When I finally released the breath, my mother looked at me and said, "Better?" _Hell no!_ "Sure," I snapped. I hastily grabbed my sketchpad and stormed down the hallway to my room. I slammed the bedroom door. Still holding my sketchpad, I fisted my hands trying to keep from punching something. It took all my strength to not do so… I took all my strength not to swear out loud.

I closed my eyes tightly forcing back my tears. Little, little kids cried. Not big girls who could take care of themselves! I let out a deep sigh and placed my sketchpad on the desk in the corner of my room. I flopped down on my bed laggardly.

I didn't know what to do now. I didn't have anything to draw because it was too dark to go back out. I could draw the corners of my room but I'd consider myself cracked if I did.

I could look for information on my dad considering mom won't help. Mom didn't have to know. Then again she had a right. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind.

"Abigail Rose Dawson!" my mother yelled. I opened my eyes. I guess I had fallen asleep. I got up from my bed. The heat from earlier had cooled off.

I didn't tell mom about my research I was going to attempt.

I considered I should give mom a break. I could wait—as long as my patience was awarded with answers!

The next day at school… I planned to ask my teacher if she had any knowledge on the subject. She had been talking about days in history. I hadn't paid the lesson any attention until I heard "—sank April 15th, 1912—." By then I paid attention to the lesson.

When class ended I had asked the teacher if she had anything that could help. I was handed a stack of old newspaper articles. There were so many!

I thanked my teacher and ran outside. Mom awaited my arrival. I shoved the articles into my bag and hurried off. "Mom… would you mind it if I went to the Pier for a while?" I asked. I knew she hated to go because she always got sad so I wouldn't have to worry about her coming along. "Sure… Be home before dark," she called as I ran down the street. "'Kay!" I yelled back.

Once at the Pier, I had gone a secret place an old friend of mine knew of. He said only we knew about it. I wished he hadn't moved away. He was in Philadelphia now. It was good spot the Secret place. High tide didn't come up this far ever unless there was a huge storm. I pulled the articles out of my bag once I sat down.

I was looking for one name in particular. I quickly scanned the papers. There was so much information in these articles! I began to take notes. I felt like I was missing a huge chunk of my life. I felt like I knew something about this! I went through the list of survivors. "Bruce Ismay… Rose Dawson—," my mom was on Titanic! She survived… I didn't see Dad's name. I slowly turned toward the last article. I felt my heart pounding out of my chest and my hand began to shake and sweat. "Please tell me I read the list of survivors wrong…" I mentally chanted.

I picked up the article dedicated to those who had not survived. There in black, bold print was "**Jack Dawson**." I felt bile rise in my throat the second I'd read it.

I swallowed the feeling and quickly threw the articles into my bag. I had to get home quickly to just cry.

My thoughts were interrupted when I collided into something hard. Not something, I had realized but _someone_. I fell backwards and before I could top myself, I heard as sickening crack as I landed. I brushed aside the throbbing pain to see if the man was alright. "Sorry, sir. Are you okay?" I asked, trying to get up. I screamed as the pin shot through my arm. It was broken. I had broken my wrist. The wrist I wrote with and drew with. Everything would be put on hold now.

"I believe the question is; Are _you_ okay, Miss?" the man chuckled. He helped me up gently. "Thanks and I'm fine but my wrist might be broken," I said. "Well, let me see," he said carefully taking my wrist. "I'm fine," I said. I pulled back a bit too quickly. I screamed bloody murder it hurt. It hurt like hell! "That scream told me otherwise," the man laughed.

I had no patience for laughing. "I need to get going," I said. "Can I get your name?" he asked. "Abbey," I said flatly. "And yours?" I asked, picking up my bag. "I don't really remember to be honest. Hypothermia and head trauma…" he said sadly. I nodded then said, "Well… Thanks." And began walking off.

I was stopped quickly. "I saw some of your drawings when your bag fell. I know I may not look like it, but I'm into art as well and seeing as that arm is the one you work with, I could help you draw for a while… If you wanted," he said. I nodded smiling. Finally someone who was courteous to me!

Walking away from him made me feel sad though. It was like I stepped outside a bubble into the cold world I lived in every day. I brushed aside the thought, thankful too that the pain in my wrist was quickly numbing. I headed for home. Mom was going to kill me because I was already 20 minutes late!

**A/N: So? :D How'd you like it?**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay I have a lot of updating to do on my four stories! I found out I've written 8! (Lauren you were right!) and I'm working on 4! Anyway, I'll be doing that all day because finally don't have a lot of homework! (Just math, but hey I like my teacher this year so it's not at all torture and we don't have to use our books! EVER!) :D**

When I got home, I stood on the front steps mentally debating whether I should go in, or sneak in by my bedroom window. I plucked up the courage to walk inside. How fast could I make it to my room from the front door? Considering it was close to 9:30, Mom would be having tea by now, my chances weren't good.

I walked inside and she was sitting there, staring at her tea cup, worried almost. She looked up at me. I closed my eyes, ready for the yelling. But it never came. Instead, she hugged me. "I was this close to reporting you as missing! Well, you're home," she said. That was it. She always got scared she'd lose me too. Or that I'd run away or something. I wouldn't do that to her. She'd lost so much already. She would always tell me stories of her life before me, when I was younger. Now I knew about all them… Mom always stopped in between to gather her thoughts so she could rephrase something so she didn't bring up dad. At first.. I thought Dad had done something to her, but then I realized he did.

He changed her life completely.

And she was happy with it, and she always said she was happier than ever before with me. I felt like asking her questions about Dad now that I knew he was with her on Titanic, but I thought better of it. I didn't want to give her two heart attacks in one night.

She released me, and said, "Would you like some tea?" I nodded my head. "I ran into someone on my way home. I didn't know them—I _actually_ ran into them—but that was why I was late—and before you say anything, _no_ they didn't hurt me," I said. I watched as her face went from horror to calmness. She sighed with relief and continued to make my tea. "Oh yeah, about that, do we have any wraps? I think my wrist is broken," I said embarrassed. I was only embarrassed because I hated asking for help—especially medically. In other words, I didn't like asking for help when I was hurt because it made me feel weak. Abbey Dawson was thick-headed, stubborn, and anything _but_ weak!

"In my room on the dresser," my mother answered. I wondered why they were there, but I ignored the question and went straight to her room.

Once I grabbed the wraps, I went back out to the kitchen so mother could inspect my wrist.

The next morning, Mom wrapped my wrist up. She told me to leave it be for the night, and I did, but it was a restless sleep. I was just glad it was Saturday.

"Ow… Ow… Ow!" I cried. "Stop moving, Abbey and it won't hurt!" my mother said. I sighed. She had been trying to carefully wrap my wrist, but it didn't help when she had to apply "slight" pressure. It was anything but! "Ow!" I yelled. "Well, Abbey! Its either you bear it and get it wrapped or you can walk around and yell 'Ow!' all day!" my mother snapped. "You said you'd wrap it gently!" I said, rubbing my wrist slightly. I was more like skimming my thumb… I barely touched it.

"I'll wrap the rest of it," I said irritably. My mother sighed in defeat and walked to her room. I sloppily wrapped the gauze around my wrist and stormed to my room. I wasn't angry at anyone, I was angry because I couldn't write or draw!

Then, I thought of the man I'd met. He said he loved art and wouldn't mind helping me. "Mom! I'm going out!" I called. "Be home before dark, Abbey," my mother said, walking into the kitchen. "I will!" I called from outside the door.

I went straight for the Pier. I just hoped I wouldn't be waiting long.

I sat on the docks, just staring at the Pier Amusement Park. I still hadn't seen him… And it was almost an hour since I'd arrived. I sighed, accepting the truth. He wasn't coming.

I got up, and prepared myself to leave. I guess I could try again tomor—

"I feel like we're going to meet this way everytime," said the familiar voice. "We might," I laughed. I backed up. I felt bad about literally running into him again, so I fixed the wrinkles I had created in his shirt. "Sorry… I know we don't really know each other, I just felt bad a—," "It's fine," he laughed. I blushed. "I believe you are blushing, Miss," said the man, in a teasing tone. I blushed even harder, but brushed aside the tease. "Would you mind helping me with my art today, sir?" I asked. "Sorry, but I don't vork weeth amateurs!" he teased in a fake French accent. "Sure," he said, still laughing a little. I smiled brightly.

We took our time walking to his home. He explained how he had gotten hypothermia. I was glad he could remember some stuff… But his name… that I was curious about. "You were on Titanic?" I asked. "So was my mom!" I said. His face showed shock, but he replaced it with a clam expression. "What's her name?" he asked. I could see a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Her name is Rose," I said. "Why?" I asked, looking at the smile that crossed his face. "Last name?" he asked. I was confused. Why was he asking so much about my mother? "D-Dawson," I said, backing up a little bit. "Rose Dawson?" he asked. "Yes? Er—why?" I asked again. "If Rose Dawson is your mother… That means—oh my god," he said to himself more than to me. "Oh my god, what?" I asked. Now I was a bit off my temper and confused.

"Hello! Why are you—what are you talking about?" I said, trying to hold my temper. "Because… You're 14?" he asked. "Yes…" I said adding an emphasis to the word. "I remember now… You're my daughter!" he said. "You're Jack?" I asked. I felt like dropping to my knees and crying. This was Jack Dawson. This was _my_ father! He wasn't dead! "Yes, I'm Jack D—,"

"—awson!" I opened my eyes. My mother stood over me. "Abigail Dawson! Wake up! You aren't sleeping late and I need to wrap your wrist!" my mother said. "I saw him! I saw Dad!" I said, jumping up from my bed. "Don't be ridiculous! Now get up!" my mother said ushering me out of the room. "You were just dreaming," she said. She didn't seem fazed by my outburst.

I brushed aside the insult and prepared for the day. Sunday, Mom always took me to the studio where she was currently rehearsing a Shakespeare play. She had gotten the lead and she was amazing. But I didn't pay attention most of the time.

Could my dream have been trying to _tell_ me something? Could it be this man was my father? I mean, he said he got Hypothermia, right? And the number one cause of death on Titanic was Hypothermia… But he's still alive. I wouldn't burden mother with this until I figured it out myself. Maybe the man could help me with my search. Now to just wrap up my wrist and I'd begin to plan!

**A/N: Sorry I had to cut it off there, but I don't want to get to into a certain part and then make this chapter miles long! :D but I'll update this story tonight or tomorrow!**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay! Thank you for the comment CamJC! I try very hard to update daily! Why? Because I hate it when people abandon a story for a week… I mean if you have your reasons that's one thing… But if you post a story online… And you feel like being lazy for a day and don't want to write… It's just sad… Try to be a bit less lazy and post! Lol… I get it if you have writer's block but it's not hard to power through! I read… Reading helps! :D To Lauren, yes! You're always right! Haha! And to Big Fan thank you for your lovely reviews! I write well because, again, I read… I am avid reader I hear about situations like those similar to what I write… I've never experienced them—some of them anyway—but I honestly don't know how… It's funny how I manage to have ahead when I'm dealing with homework, school, updating daily, etc… It's easier than it sounds if you find a way to make time! :D Now before I make a novel out of this one A/N:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic**

Once Mom said I could go home, I ran from the studio as fast I could to the Pier. If this man wasn't my father… Maybe he could help me find my father… But I wanted to draw right now to get my mind off some things…

I sat at the Pier… waiting. I had my sketchpad at hand and a pencil… I knew he'd be here… Somehow I could feel it and I was relieved when he spotted me too. I ran up to him. "Hello, Abbey," he said cheerfully. He was my only true friend even if we'd just met… But we were just that close somehow but neither of us understood it.

"Hello!" I said just as happily. "Well… What do you propose we do on such a fine day?" he asked. I wish I knew his name… Somehow Jack Dawson felt right… but I didn't want to call him by the name of the person he most likely wasn't. Jack Dawson died on Titanic… I could feel the empty space in my heart… If only Dad could be here to fix it. I didn't realize how important Dads were until I realized I never got to tell _anyone_ "Happy Father's Day!" or "Dad! It's so unfair! So and so's funny smart and cute!"

"I feel like drawing… I haven't draw in over a day and I already feel like dying…" I said. I saw a look of horror cross his face at the idea… but it was replaced quickly with a nervous smile. "We can do that," he said. "Do you mind?" he asked. He was gesturing toward my sketchpad I held in my free—unbroken—hand. "Not at all," I said handing him the abused book.

"You draw almost like I do…" he said, running his finger along the drawings on certain pages. "Mom said I got it from my dad… How did you get hypothermia?" I asked. It was random… but I saw him freeze completely. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine," I said, feeling guilty. "No… No, it's fine. A friend and I were playing poker at a bar… we were hoping to win the Third Class tickets that were in the pile," he said. "What were the tickets for?" I asked. I already knew but I thought I would ask. "Titanic. My friend and I had won… I got a damn good lucky hand!" he said laughing. "So…if you can remember all that… Why can't you remember your name?" I asked. "Well… I do remember it… But I always thought if I kept it from people… I wouldn't be reminded of what I'd left behind…" he said sadly.

"C—Would you tell me?" I asked. He placed the sketchpad back in my arms and said, "Jack. Jack Dawson." I felt the knife of anxiety cut through me and it took all my strength to not hug the hell out of him. "Oh… well… That's a nice name… Why would you want to forget it?" I asked. I was amazed my voice didn't show signs of the tears in my eyes. I held them back so he wouldn't see. "I've been looking for my father for a while now… He was on Titanic too…" I said. "What was his name?" Jack asked. "Er—Coffy… His last name was.. Mom won't tell me his first name," I lied.

"So… Do you still want to draw?" he asked. "Sure," I said. I was mentally concocting a plan. I was going to get him to help me with my search—even though it was over—so that he could find out… I was his daughter… I had a father! I really did! I was amazed at my own willpower! I hadn't run up to him and squeezed the life out of him. I held my "Poker Face" as it was called and walked with him.

"So… Where are we going?" I asked. "My home… If that's alright with you…" he said. _That's freaking perfect! _I added mentally. Now I knew where to go when I didn't want to be home. It was odd walking with my father—talking with him as him I'd just met him—and him having no idea who the hell I really was. "Have you ever fallen in love?" I asked. I knew my questions were really random… But I just wanted to know. I got more out of him than I did with my own mother! "I did… On Titanic. Rose Dewitt Bukater," he said. I could see the cheer in his eyes fly away quickly and I felt bad. I wish I could just tell him… But I didn't want to give the poor guy a heart attack.

"What was she like?" I asked. He sighed. "You have her hair… It was just like yours," he said. I blushed. I really looked like mom… How could he not notice that? "She was seventeen when we met…" he said. "My mother was on Titanic… She was seventeen too! She was eighteen when I was born but seventeen when I was conceived," I said. I tried to word it so I didn't sound so obvious… Or personal. He didn't get what I was saying really anyway.

I wanted to laugh about the fact… But I didn't. "You only knew her four days?" I asked. "And loved her every one of them…" he said. "That must have been horrible… I wonder if she were alive… How she's feel… My mom said I got my art from my Dad…" I said once again. Got he had a thick head! He didn't understand any of it! "He'd be proud of you… I'm sorry you never met him…" he said. _I already have…_ I said. _It's just too bad he was the one to break my wrist… Sure he feels bad… But not as much as he would if he knew I was.._ I added mentally. I scolded myself for it. It was a but rude huh?

We got to his house and I couldn't wait to start drawing… Maybe he'd get some of my clues later…

**A/N: Okay! Sorry I know I said "Forever Yours" would be up tonight… But I had a lot of homework and what not so I only had time to write this one! Go to .com (remove space) to find out more about why! I won't be posting next until Sunday! Sorry but my website explains it! The chapters will be long though when I get back so that will be my make-up work for you all! In other words… My apology to you! :D**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay! Today is my mom's birthday so we're going out to eat and I won't be home until late! So here you are! Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! I thank you all every day! You know why? Because you're all the reason I continue to write! If you've read "Forever Yours" and you read chapter 8's Author's Note… You'll have read that I seriously thought about quitting my stories.. It's a long story but it's all in the A/N in "Forever Yours" chapter 8! Anyway: Oh yeah! You probably don't speak French, some of you, but if you know a little, you should listen to Mon C****œ****ur Survivra Pour Toi on ! I know all the words and it sounds beautiful in French! (English too, but come on! French? The language of love as I say!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic**

He held the door open for me, and I walked into a little room. It wasn't large… But it wasn't a closet! Nothing too fancy! I liked it! "So this is where you live," I said walking around. It wasn't a question… It was a statement. "Yep. Living large, eh?" he joked. I couldn't stifle my giggle.

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "Well, this is the living room. The kitchen's over there. Bathroom is down the hall on your left. My room is on the right. My studio—the spare room—is where most of my art is," he said. He nervously ran his hand through his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. I smiled. I did that sometimes. I guess it was a trait or something.

"There's my art," he said, gesturing toward the wall opposite us. "Paris?" I gaped at the artwork. Paintings, one after the other had a spot on the wall. But there was one empty space. "Why's this spot empty?" I asked. He released a heavy sigh. His face went from calm and composed to…_sad_. His blue eyes had lost their light.

"I drew the love of my life… But I never got to safe my portrait of her," he said. "What happened to the drawing? Do you suppose it's still with the ship?" I asked. He shook his head. "How'd you know it was on a ship?" he asked. _Lucky guess!_ I thought. "You told me," I said. He nodded his head, but I could see he was trying to remember. "It probably wouldn't be…" my father said. Damn it felt good to say that!

His face was back to calm. I wanted to draw him so bad, but my wrist wasn't anymore stronger than a freaking noodle! His eyes were still sad. "Sorry, Dad—," I wasn't supposed to say that!

He looked up at me quickly. I was mentally back handing myself unconscious. "Why'd you call me 'Dad'?" he asked, standing up. "Sorry… You look so, um, familiar?" I said. "Wait you called me—Am I?" he began. He was frozen I could see.

Shoot.

"No… Well, um, yes? Go why can't I talk to you?" I said more to myself. He looked confused. "I remember now… Rose Dewitt Bukater—," he began. He stopped. "No… You can't be," he mumbled. "Dawson." I said. "Huh?" he asked. "Dawson." I repeated. "Rose Dawson," I said. His eyes grew wide. "Wait—how do you know?" he asked. I quickly thought of my options. Would he want to see me after he found out? Would he ever speak to me again? Would he ignore me? It was 14 years ago! He missed 14 years of my life. Would he want to be with mom and me?

"You're my—? Oh my g—And you're?" he was babbling. Poor guy. "I'm Abbey Dawson. I'm your 14-year-old daughter," I said. "I figured this all out a while ago… I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid—I mean—I didn't know if you—er—Maybe you'd find out?" I said. I felt so stupid. Now I was babbling! He got up and walked over to me.

"Hi… Dad," I said awkwardly. He kissed my forehead and hugged me tightly. I felt so whole and safe suddenly. The missing puzzle piece of my heart was finally here!

"Mom doesn't know yet…" I said. He laughed, but continued to hold me.

Finally! A Happy ending! Well… Almost!

"So… Ready to draw?" he asked. I laughed, but nodded. This was what it felt like to be happy. Really happy. I had a father! He wasn't gone! I just had to get past the hard part…

Telling Mom.

**A/N: Well? And no this isn't a dream, so please, Lauren! Don't die—or kill me! :D**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! Gosh! I can't stop listening to Il Mio Cuore Va! Lol… It's the Titanic theme in Italian, but I already told you that! :D… I can't get this out of my head: Ancor la porta aprirai, Per entrar nel mio cuore, E il cuore mio va e va! (English, not English translate: Once more, you open the door and you're here! In my heart and, my heart will go on and on!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic**

Instead of drawing, we asked each other questions that only the father and daughter could ask and answer each other. The questions I had bubbled up inside were finally able to break through the surface!

"Does it hurt to know that I had no idea you existed until recent?" my father asked. I knew he hadn't intended it to come out how it sounded. "No… I had been under the impression for fourteen years that you were dead," I said. He nodded in understanding and said, "Right," adding emphasis to the "I". "Mom has absolutely no idea you're still alive…" I said bluntly. He stared at me as though he were studying me… Like he'd never see me again. That wasn't true.

"Don't move!" he instructed. I sat still, confused. He grabbed my sketchpad and pencil and immediately began to draw me. It wasn't at all awkward—though maybe it should've been?

It wasn't long before he sighed in satisfaction and said, "Done!" I got up and walked around his arm chair. I was surprised. I was always told my artwork was exquisite… But his was much more than that! His was beyond words better than what I ever drew!

In the portrait, it was obvious I was staring at something. I had been looking at all his artwork. In the Portrait I looked like… well, me. Not like some supermodel hogging the camera for the hell of it!

My neck was slightly stretched, since I'd been looking up at the wall. My features were normal. I didn't really show emotion… I was just… calm. My nose was slightly up in the air as I looked up at the opposite wall.

My father had made me a makeshift sling to support my wrist. I sat on the edge of the fluffy arm chair in the portrait. I had always copied my mother's habits. Whether it was while eating… Or sitting… Or speaking I was her in every way possible…. And my father every other way.

"It's amazing! Even better than anything I've ever done or seen!" I exclaimed. I traced my fingers over the canvas paper. "Can you sign it?" I asked. My father smiled at me and signed his initials and the date. "Thank you, Dad," I said happily. I kissed him on the cheek and then said, "I love you, Dad… I wish I'd known you forever…" I said. "Likewise, Abbey," he said, running his fingers through my mess, red curls. "So… Will you help me draw?" I asked. He laughed, but nodded.

We had been at the park all afternoon and neither of us had the intention of leaving anytime soon. I was still curious. Did he have a job? Of course! How could he afford a nice, small house without money?

"I always wondered… Where I had gotten my artistic talent… Mom always said it came from you… But that was all I got…" I said. "I was wondering that too!" he joked.

I rolled my eyes and readied my sketchpad. I picked up my pastel and sighed, preparing to draw fine art.

My father placed his hand on my wrist, gently, and began moving the pencil across the canvas paper. "I wish I could draw as perfectly as you, Dad," I said, watching as he looked at the little children in front of us playing, drawing it on the paper. He smiled and I knew it was because I called him "Dad."

He'd heard that from me… But somehow I guess it was different this time? I was the child who'd always call him that. The child he just found out he had.

"Hi, Mom!" I called into the house upon entering. "Hello, Abbey!" my mother called from her room. "I had a great day!" I called back. I opened the door to her room and said, amused, "Going somewhere?" She stood in front of the vanity mirror clipping earrings on. I laughed. She wasn't able to wear any earrings, through her ears, that weren't solid gold… So she always wore clip-ons.

"Oh, there's a pre-party before the show tonight… You'll be there won't you?" my mother asked. She was now applying a thin line, on her bottom lid, of eye liner. I rolled my eyes, still amused. "Yeah… I'll be there," I said. I tried to sound enthused. I didn't like going to the Matinees and studios because all her colleagues would constantly judge me, thinking I didn't know it, because I showed up in my messy clothes. I was an artist. The hell'd they expect?

"Do you know where my lipstick is, Abigail?" My mother asked. "Mom? It's in your hand… It's a stupid party! I don't see why you have to fit in to the Middle, First Class society!" I said. "Where'd you get that?" my mother said, ignoring my outburst. "The sling?" I couldn't mention Dad could I? Not yet…

"Just someone from school…" I lied. She nodded, quickly, as if to say "That's great!" in the sarcastic, yet hidden edge most parents answered in. I cocked my head in frustration, but held my temper. "Can I stay over a friend's house tonight? I don't feel like going tonight," I said.

"Fine," she said.

I showed up at my father's door step. "Can I stay here tonight?" I asked. "Sure. Why?" my father asked. "Mom's going to a Matinee pre-party. Not my thing, really," I said. He nodded, and opened the door wider to allow me access.

The whole night, my father helped me draw. We played games, or we asked each other questions. I taught him how to cook my favorite meal. It was probably the best night of my life… It was everything I'd always wished for! It lasted forever, thankfully.

Until the next morning… When I went home…

"I went to your friends' houses… Not one of them had seen you all day! Where the hell did you go!" my mother demanded. I gulped.

Well… I'm screwed. It was sink or swim… Hell! I was swimming!

**A/N: So? Okay… I know I said I'd have a few new updates but time got away and so did my attention! But I have all day tomorrow since I have no school! So expect the updates! :D R&R if you wish!**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, sorry I know I said I'd update and whatnot, but I ended up going Halloween shopping with my sister, my mom, her friend, and her daughters… So yeah… Anyway! It's still early… My hair's in my face… Erg! Back on task: Ooh! Before I forget! Big Fan—There's no such thing as too many reviews! And you're welcome! Yes, "Il Mio Cuore Va" is beautiful! I know all the words, :). Je suis content d'entendre que vous l'aimez! And I'm just as thrilled as you are about no school! Go to youtube, and look up Titanic Theme in Russian! It's even prettier I think! To lilyp23, as promised!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN TITANIC**

I was so going to wing it. "Well?" my mother demanded. I couldn't mention Dad… Not yet. "Sorry? I mean I started going to my friend's—," _What friends? _I thought. Dad didn't count. He was Dad… "—Then I just didn't feel like going there… so I went to the park… I must've fallen asleep while drawing… My sk—," _Shit! I left my sketchpad!_ "I must've left it at the Park!" I lied. "Stop, lying, Abbey! I went every place I could think of! You weren't anywhere, _now where the hell were you_?" my mother snapped.

Oh yeah. _Definitely_ screwed.

I sighed. What would—what _could_—I say? "I was… at the—er—park across town…" I said. I hoped she'd bite. She didn't. "Abbey… I'll ask you for the last time… Where were you?" she said.

_At Dad's home. Did I tell you? He's alive!_ I mentally yelled.

"I was at the Park this morning and last night! I don't get it why you don't believe me!" I said. I tried to sound like a whiny teenager… But that wasn't me. I was the yell-how-you-feel type with an ill-temper.

"I'm going out," I grumbled. "No, you aren't! Tell me the truth, Abigail Rose Dawson!" my mother yelled. Now she was beyond pissed. She never said my full name unless it was bad. "Oh, yes, _Dawson_! I am!" I snapped. I had to get to Dad's house. I didn't want to stay here tonight.

I had to get to his house. But my mother ran out the door after me. I had to keep running! Maybe I could outrun her! _Fat_ chance! I told myself.

Just get to Dad's! I thought. _I just need Dad_.

**A/N: I'm so, so, so, SO, SO, SO sorry this was incredibly short! I feel horrible but my "free" day got very "Un-free…" Ugh I hate myself now! I'll totally update this one tomorrow and it'll be so long you'll be EIGHTY before you're done reading! God, I hate myself right now…**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry! I was with family… It's usually every Saturday/Friday afternoon… Just so you know! :D Ooh Big Fan! I can sing the Titanic theme fluently in three languages (English, obviously, French and Italian) but in NO WAY can I speak the last two languages fluently! I'm French Canadian, and Part Italian, Part Irish, etc. So if you need help pronouncing the words, just ask! I can sing them fluently and I can write the lyrics… But once you know them, it tends to stay in your head… FOREVER! Lol!**

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN TITANIC!**

She had caught me halfway off the property. "Abigail Rose Dawson!" my mother hissed. She held my arms behind my back, and I struggled to get free. "Mom! Let me g—I can't tell you!" I said. I was free of her grasp. "It's nowhere bad! I just can't tell you—yet!" I said. She made a grab for my arm again, but she had just missed and I took off at my fastest.

My wrist was throbbing but I had to keep running. She wasn't chasing me though… That was good right? I skidded to a halt and turned to look at her. Was she… was she crying? I walked back up to her… She was crying. I felt like a horrible person suddenly… "M-mom?" I asked. "Go ahead, Abbey," she said weakly. Oh god. She really was crying…

I knew why. She'd lost Dad… I was all she had left of him… It made me want to tell her about Dad so much more. But I had to wait… I wanted it to be the best thing ever. I wanted it to be when she was at her happiest… I had to get her happy… But how? "Mom… I'm not going anywhere! You know I always come back! Please… Just let me go back out… I have to be with a friend," I said. My mother squeezed the life out of me… As though I'd never come back. "Mom, don't do that! Don't say goodbye yet! I'm still here and I always will be," I said. She only seemed to cry harder… What? Did I say something?

"Go on, Abbey… Dinner's at seven," she said, wiping her tear-struck cheeks. I pet her shoulder lightly un comfort, kissed her cheek and began walking down the street. I wanted to see Dad. I just wanted to talk. No questions—from me about him… yet.

I tapped on the door lightly. I felt the urge to cry. It was a strong urge too dammit. I held the tears though. I knocked again… He didn't answer. I sat down on the front step… Freaking snow was leaking through my jeans though. But the numb feeling it was giving me felt somewhat comforting, until it began stabbing me. I jumped up. My jeans were soaked… No one was answering… And now I felt my legs give out. My jeans were so cold, I felt like yelling at the pain I was receiving.

I knocked on the door again. Maybe he just didn't hear me before? I wasn't knocking, really. I was desperately pounding on the wood. "Dad! Dad! Open the door!" I called. No one answered. I stopped knocking, and sat down again. My legs had gone numb again to the point where I couldn't stand. I felt my eyes get heavy. I wasn't tired… Was I? No…

My eyes kept trying to close, but I wouldn't have it. My breathing was slowing, and suddenly my whole body refused to move. My fingers, although I couldn't feel them, were twitching, desperate to grab something. I couldn't move though. My tears that I had finally allowed to fall, had frozen… Stuck to my skin and it hurt. Was this what truly cold felt like? I couldn't think… The only thing in my head was "_Some help me!_" but there was no one. The last part of me to go numb, was my face. I tried to call for someone… Like my father, but my voice came out scratchy, and I was stumbling over my words and repeating the first letter of everything I said. I was _terrified_ now.. But that was a lie. I was more than terrified.

The street was strangely vacant for this time of day. What time was it? It felt like years. My body just couldn't die quick enough. Just to end this. It was taking forever for death to consume. I saw lights spin around me from surrounding homes. But no one would notice me… Not until the next morning.

"Holy shit," I heard. That was the only thing I heard… Everything was slowly fading away. Sound, sight, smell, feeling, taste… I could only taste the smell of ice… before everything faded.

Crack. Crack. _Snap!_

W-what the hell? I thought. Was that a fireplace? Heaven had fireplaces? Ow, shit! My body was numb… It was still in pain—wait! I was alive? Had dad taken me inside? This wasn't his living room though. I had no idea where I was. "Oh, thank Lord you're awake!" said a voice. It was the voice of a woman. It wasn't mother. I looked around. I was bundled in what had to seventy wool blankets. Who had that many blankets?

"W-w-whe-re a-am I?" I choked. The woman, moved the blanket from my face. She wore her curly hair red-brown hair up in a First Class way. "You're inside my house… What were you doing outside?" the woman asked. "I-I wa-as look-king f-f-for my f-f-father," I said, shivering. The woman sat down across from me. "Tea?" she asked. "N-n-no, th-thanks," I said. "Wh-who a-are you?" I asked. "The name is Molly," she said, taking a sip from her tea cup. "Molly Brown," she smiled, setting the cup on the table next to her. She sounded familiar. "And Jack doesn't have any children… Hasn't had a woman since 1912," she said, laughing slightly. "Oh… right… I m-must b-be th-thinking uncl-learly," I said. "D-do y-you know-ow w-where he w-went?" I asked. Molly shook her head. "Th-thank y-you," I said. "Do you want another blanket, darling?" she asked. I shook my head. Her couch was absolutely comfortable. "W-were you th-the one wh-who found m-me?" I asked, choking back the urge to cough. "No, my husband did," she said. I nodded, but it was only a jerk.

My body was still freezing, but it was gradually going up, my body temperature. "Shit!" I whispered. Molly heard me anyway, but she didn't take it offensively. "Something wrong?" she asked. The woman had I heart. She really did. She, in my opinion, was too vulgar and un-First Class—in a good way—to be First Class. New Money? Mother said that's what her mother would call this one woman. "My mother was expecting me home! Like—what time is it?" I asked. I was surprised I didn't stumble.

I tried to free myself of the blankets. I was beginning to actually sweat. I couldn't free myself so Molly helped me remove some then said, "It's six thirty." I sighed in relief. "Am I able to leave?" I asked as politely as possible. I was relieved I wasn't stumbling anymore. I must've been out for a while…

"I should take you home," Molly said. "No… I think I can wa—," "Hon. I just got you to wake up. If you go back out there, you'll fall ill again," she said thoughtfully. She was right. "Can I walk home? With my clothes on under the blankets?" I asked. I made to remove the blanket, but Molly said, "Hon. I had to hang your clothes up to dry." I looked under the blanket and almost passed out. I had no clothes on! "Please tell me _you_ undressed me," I said, shaking, now. I was embarrassed, not cold. "Yes, sweety. But I think your clothes are dry. Wait here on moment," she said, leaving the room.

I shivered, embarrassed by the idea a complete stranger saw me naked, while I was barely alive. But I was grateful. I was alive. I felt as though I owed this woman my life. I felt exposed in a way though, even with the thick blankets on. Molly returned with my clothes. "They're drier than the Sahara!" she laughed. "The bedroom is down the hallway to the left, last door. My husband's out with some friends so you'll be fine, sweety," she said. I loved this woman instantly. She was so nice and helpful. I walked to my destination.

Once in her room, I locked the door. Just in case. She had a gorgeous room! The bed was larger than my bedroom at home. The dresser was on the left side of the room, mahogany wood… Nice. On the right side of the room were two closets, currently open. They were both very organized. The mirror sat on the wall, across from the bed. The sheets were a pristine white with gold threads hanging off the edges of the blanket. The pillow cases were just like the sheets. A chandelier finished the room, just above the bed.

Damn I wish I had this room! My room was nothing like this! Then again, we hadn't changed it since I was six. I dissed the blankets and quickly threw on my clothes. They were so warm. Warm felt so unknown to me… It was like a stranger I'd longed to meet. I slipped on two of the five blankets Molly had left on me. I carried them under my arm and walked back into Molly's living room.

"Thank you, Molly… I'm gonna head home," I said. Molly followed me outside, and watched me until I had made it out of sight. I didn't feel cold. I promised her I'd return the three blankets she'd made me where the next time I was around. It had to be passed seven. If Mom wasn't crying, she wasn't happy. I had disobeyed again. Not that I had a choice, but how could I tell her that I'd almost died? I guess she needed some truth… But how could I tell her?

The thought, "_Hey Mom! Sorry I missed dinner! I almost died, some lady Molly Brown took me for a little while until I was okay… Nothing major…. Just mild Hypothermia! 'Kay! Going to be now! Night!_" didn't sound like a very _safe_ explanation.

I walked up the front stairs, and walked into the house. My mother was sitting at the table, drinking tea. She had that look the last time I'd come home late. She stared at the table without looking at one square inch of it.

"You said you'd be home, Abbey!" she said. Her voice was hoarse. She'd been crying alright. "I don't know how to begin explaining… I was at my friend's house… I knocked hoping someone would answer. No one did. I tried again, still nothing. I thought I'd sit down and wait. After a while, I began going n—," I stopped myself. I began crying. I didn't like crying. I couldn't stop though. How did anyone—let alone a fourteen-year-old girl—tell their mother they almost died? "numb. After a while of going numb, I fell over… In the snow," I said. I was sobbing horribly now and my voice was near non-understandable. "I f-f-felt my e-eyes trying t-to close, b-but I j-just wouldn't let them! B-b-but soon I couldn't think of anything but how painfully numb I felt… Th-then ever-rything—I thought I'd d-died!" I sobbed. My mother looked at me, terrified.

She knew I never broke down unless truly scared or hurt, and I was glad she wasn't yelling. She could see I was telling the truth. "Th-then this woman, her husband, t-took me t-to his w-wife and sh-she helped m-me!" I said. I felt like falling to my knees and curling up to cry. Forever.

"H-h-her n-name was… was M-Molly Brown," I said. My mother's head whipped up. She was no longer staring at the wood patterns crying. She was in front of me now, holding my shoulders in a hug. "Molly Brown?" she asked, whispering into my ear. I nodded, wiping my eyes. It felt good to cry. I hated crying, but this was the best I'd felt in a long time.

"That was the woman my mother would call 'New Money'," my mother said, laughing. She hadn't yet released me. "Well, her husband took my inside their home and she helped me… She said to visit whenever… I need to return the blankets to her anyway," I said, gesturing to the wool around my body. "Do you want dinner?" my mother asked, rubbing my arms through the blankets to warm me up some more.

"Not really… I think I'll just go to bed," I said. My mother nodded. I was warm enough now where falling asleep couldn't harm me.

I dragged myself down the hallway into my room and collapsed on my bed. I sighed. I was alive… Mom wasn't mad…

Where was Dad today? That was all I was curious about currently. I wasn't curious about the miracle that had just taken place not long ago…

I closed my eyes and left peaceful sleep consume me. I was going to take Mom to visit Molly tomorrow. Mom sounded excited I'd run into Molly. She'd like that… She'd be happy for once. _Truly_ happy.

I awoke the next morning. The sunlight came through the window, just missing my eyes. I stretched, my body still slightly painful from numbness I had felt. My mother came in, setting a cup of tea on the nightstand and sat on the edge of my bed. "How do you feel, baby?" she asked, stroking my frizzy, curly hair out of my eyes. "Sore," I mumbled. I took the tea into my hands and sipped lightly. My mother laughed. She brushed my hair out of my face and kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes at the contact. I felt at home with mom. Would she be in a good mood today where I could show her Dad was still alive? One could only hope! I was too eager for my own good. Overly happy only led to hopes-up. I had to play it cool… Just play it cool and it'll work. Poker Face, Abbey. Poker Face.

**A/N: How's that for longer chapter? Haha! :) This wasn't the original idea… I had something else in mind… Like Jack helps her but Molly's one of my favorites so I thought I'd bring her back! So? How was it? Good. Great. Bad. HORRIBLE?**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello! Another wonderful chapter for my wonderful reviewers! Big Fan, how are the songs coming along? I'm listening to "Il Mio Cuore Va" currently… God I can't stop listening to it! :D Hope you're doing well! That's to all too! :D If you read my story on FictionPress (BaconBitz1997) is my user then you'll be glad to hear I'm doing MUCH better thanks to all your reviews and Lauren! :) **

**Disclaimer: This is the last time I'm gonna say this 'cause it's obvious by now, I DON'T OWN TITANIC!**

My sketchpad lay open on the desk. I was just staring at my father's portrait of me… It was amazing and I couldn't wait to get the chance to show my mother… But I just couldn't yet. I could… But something was holding me back. Fear? No. Was I afraid?

God, my head was starting to hurt from all this.

Later that evening, I dragged my mother out the front door. Oh yeah. I was way too excited for my own freaking good! "Will you slow down, Abigail?" my mother asked, trying to release herself from my death grip. "No!" I said. "Mom, don't you want to see Molly?" I asked. "Oh yeah… She has no idea you're my mother," I added quickly.

"What?" my mother asked. I smiled innocently but kept walking. My wrist was getting better, so It didn't hurt to pull on her arm a little. "Come _on_!" I urged.

We had gotten there and I wanted so badly to run across the street and show Mom that Dad was alive. But I couldn't do that… Not yet… God this was irritating!

I knocked on the front door to Molly's house. A man, looking slightly older than he really was, answered. He wore a grey suit, ready to go somewhere. "Molly! Some people are here for you!" he called. "Good evening, ladies!" he said. "If you'll excuse me…" he trailed off, walking past me.

Molly wasn't alone… So it sounded. "Come on in!" Molly called from the entry way across the room. Rose and I walked in. "How are y—," Molly stopped. She looked at mother. "This is my mother, Molly," I said. She pulled my mom in for the biggest hug the world had ever seen! I mouth the Molly, "_Don't mention Jack!_" Molly winked in understanding and released my mother. "It's so good to see you're alive and well!" Molly cheered.

Molly lead us into the Tea Room. There were two people there. Elders. A woman and a man. "Oh my god," my mother whispered. She stopped dead in her tracks. "I don't believe my eyes! Rose?" the elderly woman questioned. "Mother," my mom greeted, nonchalantly.

"How?" grandmother, so it seemed, said. "I was pulled from the water," my mother answered calmly. "Fourteen years… Fourteen years, Rose!" grandmother yelled. "I knew you survived. I didn't come looking for you for a reason," my mother snapped. I couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Mom?" I asked. She ignored me and just glared at her mother. "I see you've remarried," my mother observed. "I see you _have_ married," her mother snapped. "Actually… I haven't," my mother. She never married Dad? Then how did I—Oh! I blushed slightly.

"A child before marriage?" grandmother sneered, staring at me… Glaring. "You could say that," my mother hissed. Grandmother's look of utter disgust, became one of utter horror.

She composed her facial expression as well as her body language then turned to me saying, "And may I ask your name?" I smirked. She was going to love this. Mom had always told me how her family hated my father because he was steerage. "Abigail Rose Dawson," I answered as if it meant nothing.

Grandmother almost smashed her tea cup in her hand. What a show that would've been! "Dawson? _Dawson_, Rose?" she snapped. My mother nodded, smirking. "Yes. Fourteen-year-old Abigail. Rose. Dawson," she said.

Molly looked uncomfortable. Who wouldn't?

"Come, Abbey," my mother snapped. "We're leaving!" my mother said. "I don't think so…" drawled a cold voice. My mother turned around to face the voice. "Cal," she greeted, smugly. Deep down I knew she feared this man. But she never faltered.

"You're married, Caledon. And you don't own me. You never have," my mother said strongly.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Oh, I know," Cal answered. Mom already knew we lived near Cal… he had no idea he lived near us. "And who is this?" he asked, cupping my chin. "I would appreciate it if you released me," I snapped. He removed his hand, and I sighed in anger. "With all due respect, sir, I've mentioned my name at least two times today. But since you don't know my name—although you _should_—I, am Abigail Rose Dawson," I answered. I saw his face drop. Anger. Oh boy.

"_DAWSON?_" he yelled. "What the hell is going on?" I fumed. My mother ignored my language and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. Cal pulled my mother back forcefully, but she didn't yell or pull away. "_Why the hell did you not come to me when in New York!_" he raged. He raised his arm and I knew right there he was going to hit her. I did something that took a lot of courage.

I ran in front of his blow, and took it hard, splitting my lip open. I screamed, out of pain not shock. "Abbey!" my mother cried. She pushed Cal aside, and pulled me out of the house. Cal didn't try to stop us. He'd never hit a child… he wasn't that cruel… But yet he had… He'd hit an adolescent.

"Abbey! Are you okay," my mother asked, inspecting my lip. "Mom, I'm fine! If I apply slight pressure with a napkin or something, I'll be fine!" I said.

All the neighbors had come outside to inspect the situation. I looked around for Dad. Was he out here? I didn't see him. I took off at a fast pace for his house. "Abbey!" my mother cried. I knocked on his door, praying he'd open the door this time!

He didn't.

"Open up!" I cried. No one did.

Why was he ignoring me? I knew he was home! Why wouldn't he answer? "Daddy!" I cried. "Please open up!" I sobbed.

The door handle turned, achingly slow. "Abbey?" I heard him question. I tried to push the door open, but he wouldn't have it.

"Why are you ignoring me?" I asked. "Because, Abbey. I found you when you were out in the snow. I didn't know what to do, so I brought you to Molly… I left right away because I couldn't handle the possibility you died. That I'd killed you by accident," he said. I heard his voice. He had been crying for a while. "I forgive you! That was just an accident, Dad! Nothing you could've known to happen!" I cried.

My mom was getting close to the house.

"Abbey… I think it's best your mother doesn't know I'm alive," he said sadly. He shut the door, and I stood there sobbing. Did this mean I had to continue life fatherless again?

**A/N: Weeeeelllll? Haha! Let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: I've got such A GOOD IDEA for the end of this story! Which is unfortunately next chapter… But I've got many, many, MANY more ideas up my sleeves!**

I wiped away my tears and walked back to my mother, whom did not look happy. "Spare me the argument," I began. "I don't feel like talking," I said. My mother sighed, relieving herself with the fact we wouldn't be fighting.

I never felt more alone in my entire life and it sucked. My mother looked at me, but she didn't speak. After a protracted pause, my mother finally spoke, "Let's go home…"

I flopped down onto my bed, once home, and didn't feel the need to fix my shirt that had flown up slightly high, or fix my shoes that were hanging off my feet. I didn't feel like moving ever again. I felt like someone had aimed a bullet at my heart and failed to miss.

_Alone_. It hurt so much… So much worse than my split lip or now throbbing wrist. I had taken a hard fall, forget the blow, right on my wrist I'd fallen. That fall probably fractured it but at this point, I could care less…

This is what rejection felt like? Well… I was taking it pretty damn hard. I turned to face the wall, amazed that I'd even given the effort to move my limbs. I curled into the tiniest ball I could put myself in and cried myself to sleep.

I'd woken up too early, probably because when I fell asleep, it was 12 in the afternoon. It had to be 10 at night, the house was dark and quiet. My mother's light snoring was the only sign that told me that, physically, I wasn't alone. I got out of my bed and stumbled through the hallway, silently cursing at every toe-stub. I sat at the counter, head in hands, sobbing. I needed a father now more than ever… My stomach grumbled loudly and I forgot I hadn't eaten a crumb all day! My stomach was in so much pain from the lack of food… But I didn't want to eat… Somehow, I thought, _revenge_. What's the point of being happy and healthy… if no one even noticed your hurt? Sitting… I thought—

BAM!

It hit me!

Abbey Dawson wasn't a quitter—or weak! I wasn't going down without a fight! No freaking way!

I tiptoed through the house, careful not to trip on anything. I grabbed my sketchpad and wrote my mother a quick, messy note.

_Mom,_

_Went out for a bit… You know where I'll be! Think back to this morning!_

_-Abbey_

I hopped out my window. It wasn't a far fall considering I lived on the first floor of the apartment. Another man lived above us… Who? I forget. He always snuck me chocolate when he came to visit mom. The man was the only reason Mom and I lived here. He gave her a job at his small coffee shop. I loved going there when I felt really upset—and oh my gosh I was babbling!

I ran to Dad's house and I was actually glad I got an A in track—and that he didn't live too far away!

When I got there, I saw he had some lights on. Perfect! No escaping me now! I knocked on the door, hoping he'd open up! "Dad! I know you're there," I said.

He did.

"Dad?" I asked. He looked a mess. A sober mess… But a mess! "Dad, can I come in?" I asked. He opened the door further, but he didn't verbally grant me access. I took a step forward, afraid to impose. "Abbey, I don't bite," he said, forcing humor. I walked inside.

"Did something happen?" he asked. "No—not between Mom and I anyway," I snapped. He cringed at my bite, but I continued, "Why d—why'd you say it'd be best if Mom had no idea you were alive? For fourteen years I was living with the impression that you died before I was born! What provoked you to think I could continue life without you? What made you think I could possible forget I'd ever met you?" I snapped.

He looked in my eyes. His sad, blues eyes wore down my angered ones. "I'm sorry, Abbey… I was just afraid I'd lost you forever… I was afraid you'd hate me for not answering the door right away—that when I opened the door you'd died," he said. "I told you plain and simply that I forgave you! I still do! It wasn't your fault!" I yelled. "You didn't mean to not answer the door right away! You didn't mean to hurt me!" I sobbed. "You—you did mean it right?" I asked feeling stupidly unsure now.

"I didn't! Of course not, Abbey!" my father assured me. I sighed with relief. "So… How do we tell mom and when?" I asked. My father chuckled and it brought a smile to my face. My smile felt so foreign. "You really need a good shower," I laughed at him. "You should get on home," he said.

"Can I stay tonight?" I asked. "What about your mother?" he asked. "What about her? I told her I'd be out—well I wrote it but still," I said. _Well… I also told her where I'd be_… I added mentally. He took off his shirt and tossed it on the chair he'd drew me in the other night. "I hope you feel better about all this now," I said to him nonchalantly. "A bit," he said, getting ready to leave the room.

"Oh! You can sleep in my bed and I'll take the couch," he said. "No, no! I'm not a guest, I'm your daughter! I'll take the couch," I said before he could argue. He raised his arms in surrender and began to leave the room when the room filled with a frantic knock.

Oh crap! I thought.

**A/N: So? Haha! How'd you like it? Anyway, I AM posting the last chapter tonight! I'm sad it has to come to an end… But I have many more stories to update! And thanks for the reviews! I know I don't often say that, I SHOULD, but I don't! Now I feel like a horrible person! Anyway, before Lauren lectures me about why I shouldn't hate myself, I'll get over it! :D So again, check back tonight because the last chapter WILL BE UP!**


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: As promised! Thanks for all the reviews! To my new reviewer OMD I'm glad you're hooked! Haha! That's my intention as a writer! Anyway, before you all explode into a million tiny pieces and never get to read the ending!**

Oh Crap! Oh Crap! Oh Crap!

Mom was going to kill me! But I had to talk to Dad—I just _had_ to! I sighed and tried my best to remain calm. "I'll get it," my dad said. I jumped in front of him—much more quickly than I had intended. "You have no shirt on and you really need a wash, Dad! I'll get it!" I said. He nodded and left the room.

I sighed with relief. DAMN that was easy! I looked out the peep hole. Oh yeah. It was Mom and she was _pissed_! I squeezed my eyes shut tight to hope for the best then opened the door. "ABIGAIL ROSE DAWSON!" my mother yelled. "Mom… Neighbors… Sleeping… Hello?" I hissed. "I don't care, Abigail!" my mother yelled. "Mom, please! I need you to be quiet!" I snapped.

"Why should I be? You disobeyed me again! You have showed me that I _can't_ trust you!" she all but exploded. "MOM!" I yelled. She looked shocked by my outburst. "Wh—," she began. I grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "LISTEN TO ME! YOU CAN'T JUST YELL AT ME! I'M TRYING TO DO SOMETHING THAT WILL MAKE _EVERYONE_ HAPPY AND YOU ARE NOT HELPING BY YELLING AT ME AND DRAGGING ME OFF WHENEVER I GET INTO TROUBLE! I'M FOURTEEN! I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING AND MAKING MISTAKES IS ALL PART OF GROWING UP!"

She looked at me as if I was some adult who yelled at a child they didn't know. I released her shoulders and turned around. Dad was standing there, just as shocked as mom was. Maybe she wasn't shocked by my outburst? "J-Jack?" she whispered. I sighed with relief and fell to my knees on the wood flooring. Finally! A _full_ happy ending!

My mother ran to my father, and she kissed him full on the mouth. I smiled at them. I felt the whole in my heart sow itself together and explode into a million fireworks. "Oh god, Jack! I thought I lost you! It's been so long!" my mother sobbed. Her tears were of joy! Just like mine were. And my father's too! We were all crying… And we were too happy to stop.

"Come here, Abbey!" my mother said, reaching for me. I got up from my knees and walked over to them. "This is what you were hiding?" she asked. I nodded. She laughed, and so did my father. "I guess I really can't trust you! You're too good at keeping things secret!" my mother teased. "Yeah… I am aren't I?" I laughed.

My mother nodded. She pulled me in for hug and I was surrounded by love of family and I loved it! It was warm and welcoming and safe!

"Oh, god!" my mother whispered happily. "We've missed so much of each other's lives!" my father said. We were on the couch now, ready to just talk. Just talk.

"Yeah… But we have a good reason for it," I said. "That we do," my mother agreed.

"I love you guys," I said. "We love you too, Abbey!"

"Abbey? Abbey! _Abbey!" _

I opened my eyes. The sun hit my face full on. Damn Saturdays! _Wait! That was all a dream?_ It felt to real! "Abbey?" my mother asked. "Yeah?" I replied stupidly. "Come on! It's your first day of school," my mother said, laying out my shirt and pants.

"Where's Dad?" I asked. My mother looked at me. "Abbey, you know he isn't alive," my mother said. "No! No! He is! I saw him! I _met_ him!" I said.

"Abbey… You took that fight hard yesterday… You were out for a while," my mother said. "Fight?" I asked. "The doctor said you'd have some confusion… Do you feel up to going to school today?" my mother asked. "What are you talking about?" I questioned. "Victoria Hockley sweety. You and her got in a fight yesterday!" my mother said. I dreamed all of that stuff? NO! NO I didn't! I saw Dad! I know I did!

"Come on, Abbey… Be downstairs for breakfast," my mother said. No! I wasn't getting out of bed! Wait my sketchpad!

I hopped out of bed, regretting it when I fell down dizzy.

I waited until the nausea subsided before I got up and went to my desk to get my sketchpad. I opened up to the portrait… But it wasn't there. _NO! NO! NO! _I flipped through the pages but there was no portrait of me… There wasn't a portrait signed "JD". There was just my amateur drawings that meant absolutely nothing. Nothing!

I threw the sketchpad across the room. I didn't want what I almost had. Why couldn't I remember the fight? Why did my "dream" seem so real! Because it was!]

It was all so real! What happened to it? I was still fatherless and I felt my insides melt into lava… burning through me, stabbing me. _Jack Dawson_. He was alive!

"MOM!" I yelled running down the hallway. "Someone's b—," "NO! NO! I'M NOT BETTER!" I yelled. Now I was hysterical. In denial. That was it. "Mom! There was a portrait in there! Dad drew me! He signed and dated it! It was there!" I yelled hysterically. "Abbey! Honey, listen to me! You're having an episode, go to bed and I'll let the school know you won't be in today," she said, holding my in a hug. I pushed her off and said, "NO! NO! I saw Dad! Mom, I _met _him! I know what I'm talking about! I wasn't dreaming!" I yelled.

My mother looked worried. "Abbey, you know your father died before you were born… You can't do anything to change that," she said gently. I wrapped my arms around her waist and sobbed into her shoulder. I was insane!

"I saw him," I sobbed. My mother kissed my forehead.

Deep down I knew I was being ridiculous. I knew I had been dreaming but I couldn't find the heart to admit it to myself… But I had to…

"Mom?" I asked. "Yes?" she said. I sighed gathering my thoughts… "I want a therapist… I need help… I don't want to look like a freak," I said.

"You'd never be a freak, Abigail!" my mother protested. "I just need someone to talk to… Someone who can really help me…" I said, wiping my eyes. "We'll talk about it later," my mother assured me gently.

I nodded and went back to my room. I slipped beneath the covers and sighed. My head hurt really bad. It was all a dream… I closed my eyes and shut out all the aggravation running through my head.

_Just a dream_.

**A/N: And that is the end! Sequel? Yeah… I think so! :D**


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